What tattoos I have and what special meaning they have

Tattoos have always fascinated me. They speak to my rebellious, artistic side. Loudly!!! I don't remember when I first decided to adorn myself with ink, but it had to have been fairly early in my life. It seems that I was always in trouble for writing and drawing on myself and my clothes.

I remember talking with my father about getting my first tattoo done. I had gone with a friend and watched while she got her first one done. I was entranced and I wanted one, too. I had no clue what I wanted and we discussed the options. It was decided that when the time came, dear old dad would accompany me to get it done. Unfortunately, that day never came. He passed away before I could get my first tattoo done. It wasn't until after the insurance company had settled out his life insurance policy did I get my first tattoo done.

The day I received my check was the day I decided I was finally getting my tattoo done and it was to be in memory of him. His favorite color was blue, so I chose a blue rose surrounded by Celtic vinework and leaves. It was excruciating for me to sit still and wait as the needle rhythmically placed colored ink beneath my skin. Not because it hurt, because the pain was almost nonexistent, but because it was torture for me to still while it was being done. Afterwards, as I inspected my new artwork in the mirror, I felt a tinge of sadness as I remembered who was supposed to be with me at that moment. It hurt me deeply that my father wasn't there, but at the same time, I felt there was no higher honor than choosing my first tat in his memory.

My second tattoo also holds a very special meaning for me. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I suffer from BPD (borderline personality disorder). One of the symptoms, for a lack of a better word for it, is cutting. I have been a cutter since junior high school and my arms bear numerous scars from my turbulent past. I haven't cut into my flesh in nearly 3 1/2 years, but there have been a handful of times that I wanted to. As a way of reminding myself to be stronger than my illness, I got the word "fighter" tattooed amongst the scars on my left wrist. It is my way of telling myself that I am able to fight through the pain in my head and my heart and inflict more pain on my body. So far, it has served its purpose perfectly. It has the added bonus of being a conversation starter. Numerous people have asked me its significance and I am not shy about admitting my illness to anyone. It is a part of who I am, and if my tattoo can help someone else come to terms with themselves, it is worth it.

In addition to the blue rose honoring my father, I plan on getting a similar rose in honor of each of my children in their favorite colors. Pink for Emily, purple for Abby, orange for Chris and yellow for Michael. And to honor myself, I am planning on getting a chef sleeve done. Yes, I know it pretty much seals my fate as being a cook for the rest of my life. But I'm OK with that. Its what I do and its what I'm passionate about.